


The Dreams in Which I'm Flying

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Flying, Implied Dragon/Angel Sex, M/M, Mating Flight, angel - Freeform, dragon - Freeform, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2265831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams in which he’s flying are the best times he’s never had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreams in Which I'm Flying

**Author's Note:**

> Er. This was just typed in about 20-30 minutes and is likely riddled with errors. It’s also a bit weird and maybe cracky and includes references to dragon/angel sex. Forgive me? I had this IDEA and tried to write quickly so I could submit something this week! YET, it is still something that could potentially fit in the canon verse (scary, huh?). Bonus points to anyone who can guess where I cannibalized the title from. And of course, I don’t own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Jackson knows it’s a dream, but that doesn’t change the excitement he feels when he flexes his wings and feels the air beneath them. He stretches them out, catches the currents and glides from his perch, slowly finding his way into a circle before he flaps once and takes himself higher.

He never dreamt before he died, not like this.

He looked into it after, researched the dream symbology of dragons. Of _being_ a dragon. Drive and passion. Protective. Potentially evil locked in a battle against good. Transcendence from a lower plane of being to a higher one.

That one made him laugh, since he literally died to go from one lizard-like being to another, and this one soars rather than runs. It suits, he thinks.

So do passion and protection.

He wheels in the sky, waiting. Watching. It’s strange to spot something before he smells it, but in this form sight is a better sense than smell. The image is a tiny dot on the horizon at first, growing closer as feathered wings pump through the air, broad and pale, though not nearly as large as Jackson’s own.

He turns on a tail tip and speeds through the air, diving to meet the angel.

They tangle together, wing tips caught and intertwined, almost falling before they find their balance, beating together to rise again, the angel’s back pressed against Jackson’s front. He tilts his head back—almost human except for the fine brush of feathers over his skin—against Jackson’s scaled shoulder. Jackson dips his head, puffing warm smoke over his skin to feel him shiver.

The angel tires before Jackson as he always does, letting himself fall into Jackson’s embrace. Small draconic arms are still long enough to wrap around his body, holding him close. They fit perfectly, dragon and angel, and as always, Jackson _wants_ like this. He wants to carry the angel high, to take him someplace safe. He wants to mate, to claim, to keep him with him always. He sighs this into his skin with unheard words, and knows that he agrees from the way his hands glide against Jackson’s scales, seeking those few bits of him that remain something near human.

They glide through the air in a passionate dance until Jackson hears a whisper of his name and it tips him over the edge. He roars his pleasure and wakes from the dream with his hand in his pants, sticky and sated.

His phone glows in the darkness, announcing a text.

_This is all your fault, asshole_.

He blinks at it, noting the Beacon Hills number, the small image of Stiles giving him the finger. He hasn’t heard from anyone in months, not since he left, and he doesn’t know why he’d be hearing from Stiles _now_.

He doesn’t need to answer the text, more pouring in with short, sharp bursts of words.

_I keep having these dreams._

_Not nightmares, DREAMS._

_There’s this dragon, and I’m an angel, like I’ve somehow ascended from being a demon._

_Maybe it happened when I died._

_So there’s a dragon, and you know what we do?_

_We fuck. While flying, we fuck, and it’s the best fucking sex EVER._

_And that’s saying something since I’m dating a were-coyote right now and she is a tiger in the sack._

_No, seriously, you should see the marks she leaves. It’s incredible._

_The dragon’s better._

_So yeah, there’s this dragon. And I keep thinking, why a dragon? What the hell is going on?_

_Then I thought about this lizard that died, and I whispered your fucking name._

_You’re the dragon. I’m the angel._

_And that’s my fucking life, where my dreams about you are the best sex I’ve never had._

_Asshole._

Jackson waits, but the stream of texts dies out, his phone going silent, lying there on the night stand and taunting him. He wipes his hands clean, then picks it up, carefully typing out a message. _Done now?_

The response doesn’t come immediately, and he wonders if it surprises Stiles that he’s awake. He’s so far into confused that he doesn’t question that this is _Stiles_ , he just goes with it, wondering if it will make more sense in the light of dawn. It doesn’t make any sense now, but it feels right, so he’ll go with it.

So little feels right in his life that he has to follow the one thing that does.

_Yeah. I’m done._

Jackson smiles at the phone, touching the screen lightly. _Me too,_ he types. _I’m dreaming I’m the dragon. Never really pegged you for an angel before_.

The response comes quickly. _Best fuck you’ve ever had?_

Jackson probably has more to compare it to. Lydia. That girl when he and Lydia were on a break in freshman year. The few hookups he’s had here in London. The answer is: it doesn’t compare at all, so he’s honest in his response. _Yeah_.

_So what now?_

Jackson doesn’t have an answer for that. He doesn’t know why it’s happening, doesn’t know what it all means. But it makes him think. It makes him wonder and _want_ , and he can’t just leave that without poking at it. What Jackson Whittemore wants, he gets, even if that happens to be Stiles-fucking-Stilinski.

_Don’t know. I’ll be visiting Beacon Hills in the summer. Spending a week with Danny._

His phone lights up. _We can text until then. Maybe email. Probably dream._

Jackson nods, then remembers Stiles can’t see him and texts back _yeah_. He waits, but nothing more comes and he figures Stiles either doesn’t know what to say or has gone back to sleep. Which Jackson should do as well.

He throws off the sticky sheets and curls up under just the comforter, wrapping it around him like wings.

Maybe he is a dragon.

Maybe he’s found his treasure.

For now, at least, he has his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
